


The Great Game

by dearxalchemist



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Human Trafficking, Mission Fic, Slow Build, honeypot mission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8216386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: There's a game all agents play when they cross over professional lines, the age of spies is at an all time high and paranoia runs rampant. When an important mission begins to go sour, Gaby compromises herself in order to keep her teammates safe and in the game.





	

The bed is warm and massive, swallowing her whole in thick blankets and heavy sheets, and there’s an arm slung over her waist keeping her in warm luxury. Illya’s lips twitch up into a sleepy smile and he draws his fingers over Gaby’s belly. They’ve danced around one another for too long. Now they’re no longer dancing, simply next to one another in a mess of covered limbs. Gaby stretches first, cold feet seeking out Illya’s warm legs, drawing a sharp gasp from him.

“Freezing woman,” he mutters quietly, turning his golden head into the pillow before closing his legs over her feet, trapping her even further. His hand fans out along her stomach and he pulls her in a little closer, drawing up the soft fabric of her oversized borrowed pajamas. She is a mess of snarled hair and bright brown eyes blinking up at him as she turns her head over. Her lips are curving up into their own sleepy smile. He draws his hand up from her stomach and drags his fingers over her jawline. His calloused palm cups her cheek as he lets his thumb stroke along the sharp cheekbone.

“Illya.” Gaby breathes his name just before a yawn leaves her. He draws his fingers lower and lets them spear through her messy hair. She stretches out in the massive bed, her toes barely touching his shins as she rolls to face him in the early hours of the grey London morning. The sound of rain hitting the windows has already started, promising an equally grey afternoon, but right now all Illya can see is Gaby in his flat, in his bed — wrapped in his sheets.

When U.N.C.L.E. settled in London, the three original agents took up residency in the bustling city. Each of them taking on a different neighborhood, all within ten minutes of one another, each of them keeping silent of their address but knowing where the others lived. Paranoia still crackled between the three of them; it was hard to trust anyone in their line of work, but Illya had come around to letting Gaby into the inner sanctum of his home. 

He had let her in last night. With her rain-soaked hair and smudged eyeliner, no umbrella and freezing to the bone. She had confessed everything in a heated moment, her breath leaving clouds in the doorway as she shook in her expensive boots. They’ve been a team for over a year now, and while they’ve kissed a few times, they never went much further. Not until she had shown up last night and put her cold hands on his cheeks to draw him in for the kiss. It was the kiss that knocked him back a step and stole his breath, it’s what let her inside to get a look at what he hid so well from the rest of the world. Books and empty shelves was all she found. No photos, no art, or anything of the sort decorated the walls. It was empty and yet Gaby hadn’t known what to expect when she had come inside. But she knew what she wanted. She had wanted Illya, she had wanted to feel alive again, settle the wild beating of her heart from the adrenaline residue left in her body from their last mission. It had broke the proverbial straw between them. The three agents had almost met their end in a tiny plane over the Ural mountains. But somehow they managed to escape. Now Gaby wanted to live. She wanted to live with Illya pressed into her side. Of course, he wouldn’t go much further than a few breath stealing kisses. He could taste the alcohol on her lips. It was faint but still sharp and he asked between short pauses if this was what she wanted. When she nodded he kissed her again. His fingers had found her damp hair and he kissed her until she shivered, lips turning blue from cold rain soaking into her bones. 

The kissing stopped then and he pulled her into his inner sanctum, setting her on the bed and going to work of keeping her warm. Illya stripped her of her wet clothes, never quite looking at her. He remained a gentleman with red-stained cheeks and a far-off gaze, lending her old gym clothes that were far too big just for her before letting her swim in his sheets while he slept an arm’s length away from her. But in the night she shifted closer and he slept better with an arm slung over her middle, falling asleep with the heat of her pressed into his chest. 

“We are expected soon.” Illya says the words quietly, drawing his fingers through her hair, dragging them down to the back of her neck. She tilts her head back to expose the column of her throat in the early morning light. She is small in his hold. His thumb strokes down the soft patch of skin under her ear and down to her pulse point. Gaby swallows hard and he can feel her pulse start to race under her delicate skin. 

“So we are,” she murmurs almost defiantly to him, pushing up on an elbow to get closer. At this range he can smell her perfume, still clinging to her skin, and the see the traces of makeup the rain hadn’t quite washed completely away. Her lashes are thick and dark, fluttering closed as he leans in further. When his nose brushes hers, her lips part.

“Waverly will not like us to be late. Would look suspicious.” He feels himself slowly unraveling over her, a knee sliding between her legs and her fingers tangling themselves in his shirt. Yes, he thinks, he can live like this for the rest of his life. He can live with waking up next to her, drawing her in and keeping her close. She fits perfectly against him, filling in all the gaps of his life. Where the KGB beat the feelings from him, Gaby brings them all back, making him human once more. 

“You always think like a KGB agent?” she asks quietly, her lips just barely grazing his as they speak in hushed tones. “Paranoid and proud?”

“It keeps me alive,” He answers, nodding softly to her before giving in. He leans down and presses his mouth over hers. Her lips are chaste and warm, perfectly fitted against his own. He holds himself there for a minute too long. He lets his lungs burn as he keeps up the kiss, listening to her sigh against him and her muscles slacken. He smiles against her lips and breaks the kiss but not before leaving one more on the tip of her nose and another on her forehead. “Come, Chop Shop. We must get ready for work.” 

And with that he yanks the blankets away from her, forces her up at the early hour and watches as she stretches under borrowed pajamas. She’s wearing his old gray training t-shirt and a pair of sweats that are too big for her narrow hips. They’re sliding down her legs, giving him a glimpse of something he’s only dreamed about, but she keeps them up as he lets her have the shower first. 

His soap clings to her long after they go their separate ways into headquarters.

\------

“So glad you could join us Ms. Teller.” Waverly’s polite voice fills the sleek office as Gaby slips inside and takes a seat between Illya and Solo, who no doubt have been there much longer. Despite leaving Illya’s flat at the same time as he did, she took the long way around London. She settles into her seat and stretches out for a moment, crossing her ankles and sitting back. Waverly’s office is as modern as London gets with dark furniture and bright new gadgets lining the desk, all top of the line telephones and radios, transmitters, and a stack of paperwork that no doubt is mostly receipts for all the collateral damages they cause while on missions. He’s got even more grey than before peppering through his hair; stress has aged him quite a bit in the last year.

“Now as I was saying,” their boss goes on, standing up from behind his desk and flattening out his blue tie. “Your next stop is Morocco. It seems we have a bit of a trafficking problem coming out of the transport system there.” 

“I assume you’re not talking about antiquities or art here are you?” Solo pipes up, his charming American accent permeating the air as he flips through the manila folder in his hands. He thumbs through a few papers and a black and white photograph slips free. A handsome man’s face flashes towards Gaby as Napoleon holds up the photo and passes it over her to Illya, who is sitting stoic as ever in his dark turtleneck and stiff dress slacks. 

“No, not at all Mr. Solo.” Waverly points at the folder in Napoleon’s hand and draws himself onward with the details on the mission. He holds up a headshot of the handsome man, “Gentlemen and lady, meet Alexei Melnyk. A wealthy criminal who specializes in transporting people back and forth over borders, mostly women, actually. We suspect he dabbles in selling them like livestock.” Waverly pauses as Gaby gapes for a moment. Disgust twists across her face and he nods softly, going on about their next target. “The problem we have is that we can not find which cargo cars are his. They change systematically with every transport he does. This is to be a simple intelligence mission. Unfortunately, we can’t find out where he shuffles the money to go unnoticed by the Moroccan government. Whomever he’s bribing is keeping quiet, so we will need inside work. Managable and discreet, which I’m sure the three of you can be.” 

Waverly’s pacing stops for a moment and he plants both of his hands down on his mahogany desk, looking across the top of it to the three of them over the rims of his spectacles. “I would like Ms. Teller to take the front running position of this mission. We will need her skillset to get close to Alexei. He keeps his own private security close at all times, making it very difficult to to gather information. We will need someone on the inside.” His tone changes and Illya jerks up in his seat, spine going straight. He squares his shoulders and looks interested now, brows furrowing and fingers tightening over the arms of the chair. 

“You want to have Gaby go in alone?” His harsh Russian accent cuts through the conversation. Napoleon pauses his hands on the paperwork, waiting to interject.

“Not exactly alone.” Waverly cuts his gaze to Gaby, who moves to the edge of her seat. Her hands grip the arms of the chair and she tilts her dark head towards him, curiously waiting for him to finish his statement. She swallows hard and forces herself to remain calm despite her heart now thundering in her chest. Waverly’s fingers drum over the desk and he turns his head up, “We would like Ms.Teller to get close to Melnyk, get in his inner circle. We need to know how he does business. We will be sending you in with a cover story and papers to back it up. Ms. Teller is looking to invest her fortunes in the trading business and Mr. Kuryakin will be her translator and her own security.” 

“And myself?” Napoleon stretches out his legs now, unfolding himself like a cat in the chair. His dark hair is perfectly combed, his suit is pristine and, yet, Gaby notices something off about the way he’s sitting in his chair. He doesn’t look comfortable with the idea of her taking the front running of such a dangerous mission. 

“Yes, Mr. Solo you will be one of Ms. Teller’s financial advisors. As a very wealthy woman she will need help spending her money, which I’m sure you’re more than capable of. I’ve seen the hotel bar bills you keep while traveling.” 

Napoleon shrugs his shoulders and settles back in his chair, letting the folder rest in his lap. He doesn’t seem nervous at all, but Gaby’s heart is starting to pick up pace, stuttering around in her chest. There’s the echoing sound of blood roaring in her ears and she manages a short and steady breath before looking up across the desk. 

“No fiance this time? No husband?” Gaby asks and her left hand curls delicately in her lap, hiding the black pearl ring that still sits on her finger. She rarely takes it off, enjoying the way it weighs down her hand. Illya had put it on her finger this morning, fresh from the shower, damp hair and all. He had taken her hand and slid it on her finger just to watch the smile bloom across her face. She curled her fingers around his and held tighter to the ring, only to have him pull away first. 

“No.” Waverly adjusts himself, standing up tall as he picks up two new folders and passes one to Gaby and one to Illya. They’re thick and full of their new identities, printed up by U.N.C.L.E’s talented staff.

“Then this is some seduction trick?” Illya is blunt in his English, fingers tightening on the folder in his hand. His knuckles go bloodless, but Gaby is the one that puts the end to the whole conversation, standing up from her chair and holding tight to her new identity. 

“When do we leave?” She is calm, voice unwavering as she stands tall while both of her teammates sit, soaking in their new mission with an uneasy sort of tension crackling in the air. A honeypot mission was all this was; Gaby would just have to charm Melnyk into giving up information while the other two stood on point, on guard for her. 

Waverly reaches up and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before folding his arms over the front of his body, buttoning up his suit. “You leave by four. You’ll take the plane to Portugal and from there, boat to Kenitra. A townhouse has been rented and set up for you. Communications will deliver the rest upon arrival. You will meet Melnyk at his own event Friday. He is hosting a sort of auction. Gentlemen it’s invite only so you’ll have to rely on Ms. Teller’s charms to get you into the party.” 

Gaby shifts in her shoes, weight moving foot to foot as she soaks in the orders. This would be her first mission as the lead. A year with U.N.C.L.E. had been preparing her for such a thing and now it has a bittersweet aftertaste coating her tongue. Her first lead mission is a honeypot. She swallows softly and nods her head towards Waverly, unwilling to turn down such responsibility. Napoleon stands to her right and Illya to her left. 

“Report back at first chance. Extraction points will be given if needed. You know the routine.”

The three of them nod and file out. It isn’t until the door closes that Waverly sags down in his seat, head in his hands as the world breathes down the back of his neck, setting his nerves on end. He runs a hand through his hair, making it an unruly mess before he gets ready for another international affairs meeting.

\------

“This is not good idea.” Illya grounds out the words. His hands flex for a moment before curling back up into uniformed fists. They’re all three in the town car that Gaby pulls away from the curb and into the steady flow of traffic. Despite the two capable men in the car, Gaby always drives. They quit arguing with her months ago with Illya settling in the passenger seat and Napoleon always in the back.

“It will be fine, stop worrying.” Gaby drums her fingers over the steering wheel as she comes to a red light, her foot depressing the clutch and her fingers drawing circles around the gear stick. She trembles softly, the idea of the mission weighing on her nerves but, only Illya notices. Napoleon is too busy watching the street life to notice her fidgeting. 

“Relax Peril.” Napoleon charms up a smile, turning his dark head to a group of women passing through the crossroad. All of them are done up in heavy coats, hauling umbrellas and fashion totes, but it doesn’t stop Solo from staring unabashedly at them. He shifts in his seat, uncrossing his legs to spread out a bit. “I have the utmost confidence in our Gaby. This mission will be a breeze. We’ll catch some sun, eat some Pastilla, and be back in London by Christmas.” He waves a hand over the seats and Illya scoffs at him.

“He’s right you know.” Gaby sighs as the light turns green and she shifts gears and takes off once more. Her fingers settle once more on the wheel as she eases into the comfort of driving, letting herself relax. She shifts gears and turns her head over for just a moment, brown gaze catching Illya’s bright blue one just before she glances away, not letting Solo linger too much on their body language from the backseat. Their relationship needs to stay quiet as long as possible; they can’t risk their careers for the chance at a few stolen kisses and short nights together. 

Illya scoffs again and turns his head away, looking out the window as the city starts to pass them by. He watches as she easily navigates the heavy traffic, making her way into the part of town Napoleon resides in first. She wants a few extra selfish minutes alone with Illya if she can manage them. London roads are congested and slick, so Gaby concentrates as Illya breaks the silence in the car. The three of them keep the radio on low, to mix well with the sound of rain pattering on the car. Illy shifts and turns his head over to Gaby, “I do not like this idea at all.” 

“So you’ve said.” Gaby’s voice is a bit strained as her knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. “It will be fine. Do you not trust me to run this mission?” 

Napoleon whistles in a soft low tone. “Tread lightly comrade.” Gaby shoots him a look through the rear view mirror and he shakes his dark head as if reading her violent thoughts. “Very lightly.”

“That is not what I am saying.” Illya shakes his head and Gaby blows out a heavy sigh, her bangs floating up for a moment before she pulls the car out of traffic and up to the curb for Napoleon to get out. She draws her fingers down over the front of the wheel and holds tight for a moment as her stomach flutters with the nervous sensation of butterflies.

“It will be an easy mission, like Rome but better because Napoleon can’t sleep with the mark this time.” Gaby scowls over her shoulder to their American who shrugs his shoulders with a sort of ease only he can pull off as he moves to get out of the car, adjusting his suit and leaning down for a moment into the open door. “I still have nightmares about Victoria.” 

Illya sucks his teeth softly as he shakes his head, not liking the woman’s name to even be dropped in his presence. Despite it being their first mission, he would like to forget it all together. “I would not doubt you do. Monster of a woman.” 

“So, airport at three then, yes?” He double checks in that annoying way of his, smug and charming with his dark curl falling over his forehead. 

“Yes.” Gaby and Illya share the word for a moment and Napoleon looks curiously between the two of them. His dark brows pull down for a moment and he glances from Gaby to Illya as if he were a child playing connect the dots. Gaby flushes a shade of red and turns her head away as she tries to push thoughts of her morning away, “Just go, Solo.” 

“With pleasure.” Solo’s charm oozes through again and he closes the door, leaving Gaby to exhale and slump in the driver’s seat, tension easing through her body, coiling up and back down again. 

After a moment of silence, she turns the car back on and eases back into traffic. Illya’s silence is welcomed but she can feel his eyes resting on her with every turn she takes, every stop light he lingers and she can’t shake the uneasiness that is starting to plague her. She shifts gears, breaks the speed limit a little just to watch him out of the corner of her eye. His fingers twitch and reach for the hand grip as he presses an invisible brake in the bottom of his footwell. His tension makes Gaby relax a little; she’s at home behind the wheel. Her foot eases off the clutch just a hair for her to shift up once more, pushing the engine harder. The vibrations run along her bones and fills her with a small adrenaline rush as she runs a warning light right into an empty street, taking the corner just hard enough to make the tires squeal. A grin pulls at her lips and she visibly relaxes. 

“I think you can do this. I just wish you would reconsider,” Illya finally speaks up, breaking the silence in the car. He turns to look at her now, shoulders hunched and fingers gripping the hand rest so tight she wonders if he’ll break it. 

“Reconsider my first running of a mission? Not likely to happen.” Gaby breathes softly, “It will be fine. I can charm Alexei just like I did Alexander in Rome.” 

Illya stiffens and scowls, “Alexei is not a playboy pretending to be a Nazi. He takes women, sells them like property. You are not property. I do not want you near that.” 

Gab scoffs now. “I am not taking orders from you on this mission. We’re going to stop him and besides, I can handle him.” She upshifts once more, foot depressing the clutch. The belt squeals for a moment under the hood and Gaby adjusts the gear before taking off down the street. The wet road provides poor traction and she spins the tires for a moment. “Alexei will learn that I am not property. I will make sure he knows that.” She grips the wheel tighter and the car takes off in a speedy exit down the road, “That no one can be property. You can not own people, Illya, no one can. They’re not land, they’re not livestock. We need to be the ones to fix this. Besides, you’re my bodyguard for this. You will be there the whole time.” 

Illya nods softly. “I am not leaving you alone with him.”

“Afraid he’ll sell me to the highest bidder?” Gaby grins, turning her head over to him. He doesn’t grin back, his lips barely twitch at all over her words as his hand stretches across the middle of the front seat. His calloused fingers cover hers and he lets his fingers brush her knuckles in a soft touch, grazing over the ring she wears, it's their secret, it's all they have some days between them.

“Do not be silly.” His voice is low and thick in car, the sound of London rain falls over the metal roof of the car as she pulls to a stop, parking in front of the his flat along the row of other dark cars, “No one would buy you—” Her lips part in mock shock, eyes going wide before he leans over and kisses her temple. The movement is quick and she doesn’t suspect it at all as he draws his lips down over her cheek. “Because I would not let them.” 

And just like that he's gone. Illya leaves her behind in the car. Her cheek is still hot from his lips and she can still feel him lingering behind even when she pulls away from the curb and back into traffic. Illya lingers in her thoughts, distracting her from the thick manila envelope he’s left in the seat next to her.

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to @BlueIncandescence who beta'd this thing for me and helped iron out some of the kinks! Also major thanks to @Thoughtsthatfester and to Em who listened to me garble on and on about this idea. Please note that there will be some violence and sexual content, as well as horrible crimes such as human trafficking!


End file.
